


π Day

by missdibley



Series: A Girl For All Seasons [2]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Fluff, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanted you to be on my side. I wanted you to sacrifice for me, make compromises for me. Love me and only me. But then the more I read, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I really wanted was to be on your side. To sacrifice and compromise for you, not because you needed it but because you deserved it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	π Day

"Fucking rubbish, that's what it is."

Tom stood at the sink, head down, muttering while scrubbing a pot so hard I thought he might break the handle off.

"Excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK did you just say?!"

My fists were clenched at my sides as I stood behind him in the kitchen, staring at his back so hard I thought my eyes might pop out of my head.

Tom stopped scrubbing, gripping the pot in his hands. He didn't turn to look at me, though.

"It's FUCKING RUBBISH, Esme, and I can't believe you'd actually believe the goddamn Daily Mail over your own boyfriend!"

"THERE WERE PICTURES, TOM." I walked up to lean on the counter next to him, breathing and rasping at his side.

My head hurt. I could feel my eyes beginning to water. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Tom still refused to look at me. Which was fine. I could yell just fine without him looking at me.

"You. And another girl. In a jewelry store."

I pressed my face up into his arm, wanting to bite it, I was so mad.

"LOOKING AT RINGS."

"We were not looking at rings!" I could hear his voice falter slightly.

I turned away from him, beginning to pace in a rectangle around the room, making sure to avoid touching him. I stopped only to yell.

"LIAR. She picked up rings for you to look at! She tried them on for you!"

"Esme. She is a friend and she needed help buying a ring for her mum." Tom could barely speak, his jaw was clenched so tight.

"Since when are you an expert on the jewelry needs of middle-aged women?"

"Since I bought a pair of earrings for my mother from the very same store."

"Of course," I muttered. "Of course you'd have an excuse for that too."

I drew myself up for another offensive.

"If she's a friend then why haven't I met her? When we went out and met your friends the weekend after Valentine's Day, where was she? Or when we went over the road to your neighbors' for game night?"

"She was out of town!" Tom's arms worked faster to scrub, muscles tensing and flexing while he scrubbed the pot like it owed him money.

"Or maybe she's waiting for you to get rid of the fat American tart you've got shacked up here before she resumes her place in your bed."

Tom stopped. He set the pot down, turned the water off, and looked at me. I stopped pacing to return his glare.

His eyes were so dark. I'd never seen him angry. I almost didn't recognize him. And that frightened me.

"Okay, now you've really done it. Gone over the edge, haven't you?" Tom narrowed his eyes at me.

"Don't talk to me like I'm crazy, Thomas. Don't pretend like we don't know what's going on here."

Tom inhaled sharply, then lifted the hem of his shirt to scratch his stomach. I didn't ogle the bare expanse of flesh when he did so. I wanted to stay in this fight, and would not be undone by a patch of skin.

"So what is it do you think is going on here?" Tom posed the question like a threat.

But I didn't fear it. I welcomed it, feeling self-righteous and smug and, of course, profoundly wounded.

"I think you changed your mind. I think you don't love me like you said to me. I think I'm something fun for your ego, a weird little toy, a sad fan you pitied, and that you'll send me packing back to Chicago as soon as this girl agrees to marry you."

Tom didn't reply. He just looked at me, his look of frustration changing not to one of scorn, or of smug triumph, but to something that looked like sorrow. He looked defeated.

"Don't you trust me?" Tom whispered. "Darling, if you don't trust me, then what are we doing?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's not that I don't trust you..."

"Then what was all of this, all this yelling! Why do you sound like you _want_ to catch me with another girl?"

"Because I need a reason. I need a reason to be afraid. A palpable threat to replace this suspicion, that we're not right. That this isn't right. Maybe you were right to call me crazy. How can I possibly love you when I've only known you for four weeks?

"The same way I knew I loved you after four hours!"

"Okay, genius, how?"

"Because when I saw you walking up to me in your very cold apartment building on that absolutely freezing night, you were the only thing I could see. Because it hadn't just been four hours for me. It had actually been four weeks since I agreed to visit you on Valentine's Day. Four weeks since Hemsworth sent me your information, transcripts of emails and essay you'd written, pictures, recordings of phone calls, the thoughts of people who knew you, whether they liked you or not. It showed me who you were and what you were about."

"And what was I? Please enlighten me."

"A hopeless romantic. A dreamer. An estranged daughter but a steadfast friend. Someone who works hard but prefers to work smart if it will save her time and, most importantly, grief. A frustrated writer. Someone with enthusiasm who would gladly trade it for experience.  A born leader with a tendency for martyrdom. You forgive with difficulty and you refuse to forget. You laugh easily, but only when the person has earned it. Someone who compromises to accommodate her friends and loved ones, especially when they least deserve it. Someone who made a family from those friends. A trusted grown-up and confidante for those offspring of her friends when they need her. And they need her. They need her badly."

I opened my mouth as though to speak. But I had no words.

"And now I need you. But if you don't need me..."

"I do. I can't explain, not now. But I do." I began to cry, hiding my face in my hands.

I felt Tom wrap his arms around me. I kept my own arms bent in front of me so I could continue to cry into my own hands but I stepped into him as far as I could.

"How could you possibly see all of that? See all of it and not want to leave."

I felt Tom sigh, then rest his chin on top of my head.

"I wanted you to be on my side. I wanted you to sacrifice for me, make compromises for me. Love me and only me. But then the more I read, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I really wanted was to be on your side. To sacrifice and compromise for you, not because you needed it but because you deserved it. You're an incredible woman, Esme Grey, and you don't need me or anybody else to tell you that. But I want to do nothing but tell you and show you for as long as you'll let me."

I choked back a sob.

"And the love me and only me bit?"

Tom stepped back from me, drawing my hands into this so he could kiss them. He led me over to the counter by the sink, carefully placing my hands on the counter. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a slender box. He put the box down next to my right wrist.

"Open it."

I picked up the box. My hands were shaking so much I nearly dropped it. But when I did open it...

Inside lay a brass ID bracelet. The tag was long and narrow, with a slight curve to fit around my wrist. Tom's name, his full name, was engraved upon it. I picked up the bracelet, flipping the tag over to see if something else had been inscribed.

"That's a funny word," I frowned. "What's 'Tvitisydmhftys' mean?"

Tom pressed a kiss to my temple. He took the bracelet from me, then gently clasped it around my wrist.

"I'll give you a minute to think about it." He paused. "I'm going to bed."

He turned away, and was gone.

It only took me a second to figure it out.

Before I flew up the stairs, I found two slices of bread and stuck them in the toaster. I found a tin of sardines in oil and opened it while I waited for the toast to pop up. I laid sardines on the toast when it was done. Before I took the plate upstairs, I found the last slice of banofee pie in the fridge and slid it onto the plate next to the toast.

Tom was lying in bed, on top of the covers, barechested and wearing striped pajama bottoms. He put down the paper he was reading.

"What's this?" Tom asked as I set down the plate on his nightstand.

 _"The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service"_ I recited, rubbing the bracelet with my index finger. I nodded at Tom.

He nodded back.

I sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his leg while I used the other to pick up a piece of toast. I held it up, tilting the bread slightly so he could see the sardines on top of it.

_“If a person made me a present of only a sardine, I would do anything for him.”_

I placed the toast in his hand. He held it up to my lips. I opened my mouth and took a bite.

Tom handed it back to me. I held the toast up to his lips. He opened his mouth and took a bite.

Chewing, we regarded each other in the light coming from his reading lamp. I checked his cheeks, his jaw, his sweet ears and tender neck for freckles. All present and accounted for.

Tom swallowed his bite of toast.

"Who said that?"

"Saint Teresa of Avila."

"Did she really?"

"She was a saint, so of course she did."

Tom considered this answer, then nodded.

"So if I'd gone shopping for a tin of sardines instead of a bracelet for you, and thus avoided a trip I tried to disguise by accompanying my friend who was actually buying an engagement ring for her girlfriend..."

"Wait, I thought that ring was for her mother!" I sputtered.

"Her girlfriend is friendly with the owner of the shop. She didn't want the owner to ruin the surprise."

"And you being there, getting papped?"

"An unfortunate coincidence. I assure you, my publicist is angry, though not so livid as you might prefer."

"Okay."

"Esme?"

"Hmm?" I was leaning against Tom's chest, eyes closed, enjoying the taste of sardine still on my lips.

"I'm sorry." Tom began stroking my back, tracing patterns lazily on my shirt.

"I'm sorry, too. We good?"

"Almost."

I felt Tom grip me by the shoulders, pushing me away for a second, but only so he could sit up and wrap his arms around me. He bent forward and took my lips between his, kissing me so fervently that I felt a flush spread all over my face, then my chest and all the way down to my toes. He slipped his tongue into my mouth when I gasped with surprise and want, tickling the tip of mine before he began to massage it slowly and surely.

"Tom..."

"Mmmmm..." Tom moaned into my mouth between kisses. "Fishy."

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know I say this with love."

Tom stopped kissing me. He frowned.

"But?"

"If I'd known you were going to do that, kiss me like that," I whispered, then smiled weakly. "I would have just given you the pie."


End file.
